


Toynbee Idea

by GrandEclectus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Friendship, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29885004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrandEclectus/pseuds/GrandEclectus
Summary: Crowley discovers the Supernatural book series and believes he's found in Carver Edlund (Chuck Shurley) another Agnes Nutter. Aziraplale is skeptical but travels to America with Crowley to 'team up' with Sam and Dean. They meet Crowley's old friend, and break into the Bunker.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 16





	1. Paperback Writer

**Author's Note:**

> I never know when the muse will strike. I never know what the characters will end up saying to one another. The actors and writers really bring them alive! 
> 
> So now I'm writing Supernatural / Good Omens crossover fan fic! May the Goddess have mercy on my wayward soul!
> 
> May be SPOILERS if you've never seen the shows.
> 
> This is just a bit of fluff and fun. 
> 
> I try to stay with canon with both shows, but given how many changes all of the characters have been through, I may miss the mark. Don't freak out if I mess up, please. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Crowley slammed through the door of Aziraphale’s corner bookshop, arms laden with ragged paperbacks

“We are CLOSED!” an exasperated Aziraphale said, in a sing-song voice. “Oh. Oh...it’s just you.”

“Yes, just me.” 

Visibly shaken, Crowley heaved an avalanche of tattered novels onto the desk, chair, and floor. Some opened to reveal their crusty brown pages and faded type.

“Crowley! You’re reading? I’m delighted.”

“Don’t get too excited,” shot Crowley.

The angel looked more closely at the dog-eared pulp novels littering his shop.

“Um...Well, it’s a start.”

“I’ve just spent a week going over these! Every word, every item, every bit of them!” Crowley spat with disgust.

“Carver Edlund? Uh...I don’t think I’m familiar with his oeuvre.” Aziraphale said with a combination of pity and irritation. He winced at the books as if he were smelling week-old dumpster fish. He adjusted his little round glasses and as he picked up the novels and stacked them in an orderly fashion.

“At least he was prolific!” the angel conceded.

“Driven! One might even say he was ‘inspired’.” Crowley stated.

“I don’t expect miracles from your literary forays Crowley but please, at least start with the classics,” the angel begged. “Where did you find these things?”

“Well,” Crowley hesitated. “I like old bookshops,” he reluctantly admitted.

Aziraphale looked pleased, but then turned his attention to the paperbacks. He picked up each one at arm’s length between his finger and thumb as if he were removing dead rats by their tails from a flooded basement.

“Aziraphale, you don’t understand! These tattered things are works of prophecy!” Crowley insisted breathlessly. “This Edlund person is another Agnes Nutter! These books are all about the Big One!”

“Have you been drinking?” Aziraphale demanded with suspicious eyes narrowing.

“No!” Crowley insisted. “Yes, but that’s not...that’s not….Look, here!” Crowley held up a novel.

“‘Route 666’? Wendigos?” Aziraphale said with skepticism. “A woodsy Devil creature from someplace called The Pine Barrens of New Jersey?”

Crowley explained in a jumble. “The main characters are two brothers, they’re called ‘hunters’. They track and destroy forces of evil! And I’ll try not to take that personally.” 

“Preposterous!”

“They drive around in a vintage American muscle car, a 1967 Impala.”

“Vampires? Werewolves? Sirens? Invisible Hell Hounds? Cross Roads Demons? This is balderdash!”

“There are arc stories, more than one novel. This group chronicles the breaking of the 66 seals and the rise of Lilith. This bunch is about Leviathan taking over the earth. And this one is about Lucifer and Michael using the bodies of these human brothers to have a showdown. And there are other Anti-Christs!”

“Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!” fretted the angel with furrowed brow.

“You see?” Crowley asked hopefully.

Aziraphale was using his powers to speed read the entire back-catalogue of Carver Edlund’s output. He was not impressed.

“This writing is hackneyed, derivative!” he declared with the aire of an English literature professor. “The grammar is abysmal. The plot developments are nearly non-existent or just outright ridiculous! The characters are overdrawn, melodramatic, awkward! And anyway, it’s American!”

“Forget literary achievements!” Crowley says, knocking a ripped up copy of “Scarecrow” from Aziraphale’s hand which then exploded, the fragile pages cluttering the bookshop.

“Crowley! That was uncalled for!” Aziraphale scolded, gathering up the remains of the novel.

“Listen to me! Dramatis Personae: Michael! Lucifer! Uriel! Dagon! Zachariah! Alistair! The Metatron! And another Crowley, who is or was a King of Hell! They’re all here!”

“Humans are aware of the names of some angels and demons. Not uncommon characters in their works of fiction.”

“Do you remember the Angel Castiel?”

“Yes, of course! He is a warrior, an Angel of The Lord. A real company man. Couldn’t wait to smite as many poor sinners, stray angels, and demons as he could. Smite! Smite! Smite!”

“And where would a human get THAT name?” 

“A room full of monkeys with typewriters would pen Shakespeare if given enough time…”

“Edlund is no roomful of monkeys!” Crowley shot back.

“He’s certainly no Shakespeare either!” Aziraphale countered.

“The Angel Castiel is not in the Bible or any other human works! He’s a part of Edlund’s work only!” Crowley pleaded. “For that matter, neither am I. All credit for my work went to Lucifer!”

“You’re unhappy about that? Did you want the credit?” 

“Nevermind that! Forget I mentioned it!”

“Go on,” the angel told him.

“Castiel lifted Dean, the older brother, from Hell. Grabbed him! Yanked him right out of perdition. Boom! Resurrected!”

“Poppycock! That breaks every rule!” Aziraphale protested. “Hell is a one way ticket!”

“Your people wanted him to be rescued. A Gabriel type, upper middle management, Castiel’s boss, Zachariah was in charge of Dean’s resurrection.”

“Must be a different division,” Aziraphale said wryly, sipping a cup of tea he had warmed with a wave of his hand.

“This Dean is the Sword of Michael! The younger brother, the big rangy one, Sam, is the Vessel of Lucifer. He was groomed from childhood by a yellow-eyed demon, Azazel--who is most definitely NOT ME! But things went all pear-shaped. Dean agreed to sacrifice himself, but he got out of it...for a time anyway. Castiel even switched sides.”

“Castiel? He would never switch sides!”

“YOU did!” 

“That was different!”

“Was it? Angel, he saw the light, just like you. Heaven and Hell BOTH want their battle and they don’t give a damn who suffers for it!”

“Be that as it may, this whole ‘Supernatural’ idea is just cockamamie rigmarole!”

“Is it? If ‘Supernatural’ is what I think it is, the Angel Castiel is on Our Side! Maybe even these brothers are with us! Or their hunter friends! Cock-a what?”

“Even if this Carver Edlund has some slight cosmic insight, what makes you think these books are anything but hackneyed, potboiler literary detritus?”

Crowley groaned heavily, exasperated by Aziraphale’s stance. He sauntered over to the large window and watched humans go about their business.

“Look at them! Oblivious! Blissfully ignorant! They have no idea what’s about to happen to them and their world!”

“You bring me a stack of pulp fiction, claim it’s prophecy. What am I supposed to think?” Aziraphale asked plaintively.

“You’re playing Devil’s Advocate!” Crowley accused.   


“I’m what?”

“Admit it!”

“You’re obviously serious about this, Crowley. What makes you think these books are real prophecies?”

“Indulge me, Angel! Let’s take a trip!”

“To America? Now?”

“Yes, to America! Now!”

“Do they even have crepes?”

Crowley extended his hand, palm up.

Slowly, reluctantly Aziraphale took the demon’s hand and they were off.


	2. Coming to America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale search for the Winchesters starting in Philadelphia. They visit Crowley's old friend, The Jersey Devil. Aziraphale is not quite sure how to dress.

The pair materialized in front of the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia, PA.

Crowley had not changed his rocker boy black attire, but Aziraphale had changed his own for some reason Crowley could not fathom. The angel now sported a costume that would have horrified a 1950s Grand Ole Opry country singer. 

The angel was now wearing a glowing white cowboy outfit, bedecked with white sequins, silver studs, gold stars, and long fringes. A tan and light blue tartan neckerchief had replaced his bow tie. He had donned a cowboy hat and white cowboy boots, each with gaudy gold stars and iridescent glitter.

“Hey, cowboy! This isn’t your first rodeo! Is that what you think they wear now in America?” Crowley asked with bemusement. He had become accustomed to Aziraphale’s more embarrassing moments, but this was beyond the pale.

“I wanted to blend in!” the Angel insisted. “I haven’t been here in years!”

Crowley’s eye roll could be seen from outer space along with Aziraphale’s getup.

People were staring at the bedazzled angel. A woman laughed loudly, her outburst could be heard from the fountain across the street.

Crowley walked toward the roundabout and found an odd item embedded in the street. Letters were painstakingly hand cut into multi-colored linoleum tile. 

Aziraphale followed him, and stood above the colorful tile that was fused into the macadam. He read it aloud:

“TOYNBEE IDEA

IN MOViE '2001

RESURRECT DEAD

ON PLANET JUPiTER”

“Remember when we did these?” Aziraphale asked with pride. 

“Started doing them in the ‘80s.” Crowley recalled. “I still place them when the mood hits. I really confused the investigators when I put a few in South America!”

“It was quite a lark! They’re still guessing what it is all about.” Aziraphale said with glee.

“I don’t even know,” Crowley stated. 

“A bit of harmless deviltry, I’d say!” Aziraphale said proudly.

Cars were slowing to stare at the strange white cowboy on the side of the busy road, nearly causing a few accidents.

“I also wanted to visit the Academy. Remember Cope and Marsh?” Crowley asked.

“How could I forget? The Saur Wars!” Aziraphale said with some delight.

“Bone Wars, but close enough,” Crowley corrected. “We had those two going around in circles!” 

“We certainly did!” Aziraphale said with nostalgic delight. “I put Cope’s Elasmosaurus head on the tail.”

“I got a commendation for that.” Crowley bragged. “Of course ALL of the dinosaur bones are fraudulent. Having those two digging them up was hilarious!”

“Apart from a trip down memory lane, why are we here?”

“It’s a place to start. I can’t get a bead on where the brothers are.”

“Perhaps because they only exist in the pages of lurid melodramatic pulp fiction!” Aziraphale stated with a touch of arrogance.

“Or they have warding and spells to keep out prying occult eyes! Castiel is a powerful protector and the brothers and their friends know a few tricks.”

“We shall see.”

“Yes. In the meantime, please put on some clothes that won’t stop traffic. We don’t need to draw attention. We’re going to see that famous devil!” 

“New Jersey? It’s not far. We can fly there.” Aziraphale suggested. “I need the exercise.”

\--------------

The pair landed in the middle of the Pine Barrens of New Jersey near a ramshackle cabin. Weeds and moss had grown up all around it, and vines swathed the structure, keeping it safe from prying eyes.

Aziraphale had switched to a tan safari outfit, complete with pith helmet and tartan ascot. 

“What are we doing here, Crowley? I thought we were finished with damp places.” the angel complained.

“The Leeds Devil, Angel. He’s the 13th Son of a cursed woman from the 1700s. Hails from around here. He’s harmless really. The humans have made up all kinds of myths around the poor old chap.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said dryly. “It all makes perfect sense along with everything else.”

“Just follow my lead.”

“Fine.”

A blood curdling shriek and haunting laughter erupted from within the cabin. Crowley ran into the building, snapping his finger which pushed aside heaps of old growth, moss, and rotting stumps. He was able to burst through the door. Aziraphale helped clear the way.

The interior of the cabin was cozy, not at all like the repulsive exterior. Colorful granny square quilts were draped over the back of a worn leather couch which was filled with ragged stuffed animals and dirty Beanie Babies. The lamps were all dumpster finds with mismatched broken ceramic, plastic, or glass bases. Cute ceramic knick-knacks covered the shabby end tables and mantel. Christmas lights were strewn around despite the time of year. A dirty placard on the wall read ‘Bless This Mess’ and another ‘Home Sweet Home’ next to taxidermy mounts of a Furry Trout and a Jackalope. The TV was the large, heavy cathode ray tube variety, topped with a sprawling nest of coat hangers that served as antennae. A candle burning low emitted a slightly sickly vanilla cupcake scent which masked an undefinable persistent odor.

At the center of it all, a creature sat watching the television in a well-worn recliner. 

“Hey!” came a horrific squealing shout. “Get out of my house…Crowley? Crowley! A sight for this sore old horse’s eyes! It’s been years!”

“Leedsy! How the heaven are you?” The pair hugged and patted each others’ backs.

“Oh, been better! Been worse! Lumbago is acting up! Who’s your angelic sidekick?”

“Sidekick?” Aziraphale objected.

“Name’s Aziraphale,” Crowley told him. “He’s helping me with a little investigation.”

“Excuse me, your ‘sidekick’?” Aziraphale challenged again with indignation.

“Not now, Angel.” Crowley whispered.

The Leeds Devil had a ram-horned goat head and the body of a malnourished horse. Its crooked bat wings were leathery, worn, and marred with scars and holes. Its battered hooves were overgrown and twisted on its bony legs and its long tail has a forked end. How was this poor deformed creature even alive? 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked with genuine concern. 

“Yes! Yes! Can’t complain. Have you seen Real Housewives of New Jersey? They’re a hoot! They make me howl every time!”

“I don’t consume a lot of tele…” Aziraphale started to say stiffly.

“So Leedsy!” Crowley interrupted, putting his arm around Leeds’ boney shoulders. “We were hoping you could help us with something.”

“Sure, Crowley! What can I do ya for?”

“We’re looking for a pair of Hunters.”

“Gots lotta Hunters around here mostly looking fer me,” he wheezed with laughter. “I like to parade around in the woods when the TV cryptozoologists come. Helps their ratings when they get a fuzzy picture of me in the trees or a howl or two. I sure miss showbiz! Used to be with Barnum back in the day!”

“I remember. And I think I saw your episodes.” Crowley humored him. “You were great! Had the wannabes shaking in their boots.”

“Thanks! Anyway, I like your proactive approach to Hunters! Get ‘em a-fore they get you!”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” Crowley smoozed. “They go by Sam and Dean.”

“The Winchesters!” Leeds jumped back. “Whoa, Crow Crow! You don’t mess around!”

“You know them?”

“Know them? Every supernatural being in the Western Hemisphere knows Sam and Dean Winchester!” 

“Is that so?”

“You’d better steer clear! They’re pretty free with the Holy Water and Angel Blades, not to mention every other weapon--magical and human--they can get their grubby hands on.”

“Don’t worry about me, and besides, I have a Guardian Angel,” Crowley said with a wink at Aziraphale who pursed his lips and rolled his eyes indignantly.

“Where are my manners? Got some roadkill possum and polk weed in the slow cooker! Lunch?”

“We’ve eaten, thank you,” Aziraphale demurred, turning a little green at the thought of that lunch. 

“Another time, old friend,” Crowley said graciously. “But to the point, where can we find the Winchester boys?”

“They gots a hideout bunker in Lebanon, Kansas. Used to belong to the Men of Letters. It’s heavily warded, but that should give you clues to its locale.”

“The Men of Letters!” Aziraphale interjected. He knew them all too well. “You never mentioned them!”

“First time I’m hearing, Angel,” Crowley informed him. “Thank you, Leedsy! We owe ya one!”

“Anytime! And here’s a howl for the road!” The Leeds Devil let out a scream that broke a small mirror in a hallway.


	3. Splish Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale find and invade the Winchester's Bunker with some dangerous consequences.

When they arrived in Lebanon, Kansas it was easy for them to find the Winchesters. Crowley zeroed in on the only vintage Impala in the area, even under the protective spells. Azirphale sensed where the warding had created a ‘dead zone’. 

The pair approached the bunker’s bleak edifice in a lonely corner of the town. Aziraphale easily removed the warding.

Crowley charged into the entrance.

“Wait! We’re intruding, Crowley, stop!”

“I thought you said they weren’t real.”

“Obviously they are! It doesn’t give us a right to trespass!”

“Come on, Angel! Let’s meet some American hunters!”

“These Men of Letters are not very nice people!”

“They’re gone. It’s just the Winchesters now,” Crowley said with overblown confidence.

“Wait! What if...”

But Crowley charged ahead, and Aziraphale had to follow.

They entered, easily overcoming the simple locks. It was quiet inside.

“Ah! I feel at home here!” chirped Aziraphale after they had come down the stairs. “I sense they have an extensive library, and not just on all matters ‘supernatural’!”

“Mr. Excitement,” said Crowley drolly.

Dean was sitting at the War Room table, a clatter of empties surrounded the musty books he was sifting through. Several photos of Toynbee street tiles with Post-it notes on each were strewn about. Dean was in mid-glug when he became aware of the intruding duo.

“Whoa whoa whoa! Who the hell are you? How the hell did you get in here?” Dean demanded. “SAM!!!”

Reflexively Dean grabbed the Colt M1911A1 he had holstered under the table and shot at the two intruders.

Crowley made the bullets slow down. He and Aziraphale stepped apart. The bullets fell harmlessly to the floor, but the pair were now across the room from one another.

“Please! Stop!” Aziraphale pleaded. “Let us explain!” 

Sam ran in from the kitchen armed with salt, holy water and an Angel Blade. He tossed the water and salt at the intruders then charged Aziraphale and planted the Angel Blade deeply in his heart.

Aziraphale had spread his wings and tried in vain to use his powers to shield his dear friend from the deadly substance, the blade in his chest slowed him down. The Angel could hear Crowley’s cries of horror. During the altercation a droplet of the vile substance penetrated Aziraphales' attempted defenses and touched Crowley’s hand. 

The demon let out an abject existential howl and froze, fully expecting these to be his last moments in the universe.

“Now do you believe me?” Crowley demanded of Aziraphale.

“Crowley!” the angel gasped. Aziraphale deftly removed the Angel Blade from his body as if it were a splinter, and threw it down violently to clatter on the marble floor.

Something snapped! Aziraphale’s long-dormant, God-given angelic wrath erupted. He lost all reason as he pinned the brothers in place against the walls with a snap of his fingers. He turned in terror, expecting to see the worst thing in the universe: the painful death of Crowley. 

The trembling demon was on his knees. He held his hand out where the holy water had caught him. The droplet made his skin sputter and explode. Oozing blisters bubbled up and sizzled. The pain was unbearable. The effect was rapidly spreading to his arm.

“You are NOT going to be destroyed! I simply won’t stand for it!” Aziraphale cried in desperation, trying to convince himself. He tried to miracle away the substance and heal Crowley, but nothing was changing. 

“This is it, Angel!” Crowley spouted through the agony and tears. “It’s been...I’m sorry...be good...I lo...Dammit...I can’t say it...you KNOW! You HAVE to KNOW!”

Aziraphale turned to the brothers and vowed, “If he dies, I will raze this edifice to the ground, salt the earth, and send you both into agonized oblivion for all eternity! I will…”

“Aziraphale! Wait!” Crowley shouted in disbelief.

The blistering skin was healing, the pain subsided quickly, miraculously. 

“I...I...don’t think that I did that! I tried! I couldn’t!” Aziraphale fretted, tears of relief welling in his soulful eyes.

“I helped. We did it together,” said the Angel Castiel who had just appeared. “And the Winchesters are under my protection, Aziraphale. I would not allow them to be harmed by you or anyone else.” As he made that pronouncement, the two brothers were released from the walls. 

Crowley stood up, and collected himself. 

“Must Americans always shoot first and ask questions later?” Crowley spat. 

“YES!” Castiel, Dean, and Sam all said at once.

Aziraphale tucked in and hid his wings, smoothed his suit, and adjusted his tartan bow tie. He took a deep breath.

“I think we all got off on the wrong foot,” Aziraphale stated. “We are NOT here as enemies! In fact…”

“In fact, we need to become allies, and FAST!” Crowley said forcefully, completing the angel’s sentence as they often did with one another.

“Cass, who the hell are these douches?” demanded Dean. “How did they get in here?”

“Sit down, Dean! I agree with Aziraphale and Crowley. Everyone needs to ‘take a pill of chill’ and stop throwing Holy Water around.” Castiel stated.

“I find it’s difficult to be calm when anyone tries to end me!” Crowley said, his trembling finally subsiding, but his anger rising.

“I completely agree! You could have killed us both!” Aziraphale said with indignation. “Your behavior just wasn’t very nice!”

“Fine! Next time, try KNOCKING!” Dean shouted.

“That’s enough, Dean! We’ll have pizza. Pizza makes everything better.” Castiel said as he filled the table with boxes of pizza.

“Pizza? I need a drink!” Anthony J Crowley said.

“Drinks all around! Capital idea!” said the King of Hell Crowley as he materialized and joined the party. Now everyone had a full glass of top shelf whiskey. KoH Crowley brought several bottles of Macallan. 

“That works!” Anthony J. Crowley said to King of Hell Crowley.

“Cheers!” KoH Crowley said before gulping down the drink.

“We’ve never met? I feel like I should know you.”

“Different division,” KoH Crowley deadpanned.

Dean’s eyes widened at both Castiel's impressive pizza spread and Crowley’s expensive beverages.

“Moose, Squirrel, we have celebrities in our midst!” KoH Crowley announced. “First up, I’d like you to meet the Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Keeper of the Flaming Sword.”

“How do you do?” the Angel said politely, but coldly.

“And this swarthy, ginger, snake-skin-booted gentleman is Anthony J. Crowley, formerly Crawley. He’s as famous as Aziraphale, maybe more so. Did you know he is the REAL Snake in the Garden, and he also tempted Christ with all the kingdoms of the world.”

Dean was nonplussed. Sam gave each a little half-hearted wave.

“Great, you both have CVs,” Sam snarked.

“We’re retired,” Crowley with a long “O” objected. “That was all a VERY long time ago, and I was tricked and framed!”

“You’re too modest! Your status reports to Hell are legendary, required reading,” KoH Crowley informed him. “Such a delightful mélange of delicious lies and misrepresentations! True artistry”

“I don’t know what you’re on about. But, you have good taste in alcohol, Crowley, is it? LIke ‘Owl’?”

“American pronunciation, but we should leave it for now for the monkeys’ sake.

“And before there’s any more subterfuge, we of the Nine Circles know all about your little Arrangement. Getting an angel especially this fluffy little Chosen One to do your dirty work is pure genius! I salute you!” He raised his glass to Crowley and downed it all.

“‘Fluffy little Chosen One’?” The Angel challenged with indignation.

Aziraphale was uncomfortable with KoH Crowley’s comments, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Had that been what The Arrangement had been about? After all, the idea was Crowley’s brainchild. Had Aziraphale been tempted into it by the original Great Tempter himself. Was it all to cause his fall from grace? Was he already ‘A Fallen Angel’ as Michael had accused?

“Looking forward to having you join our team full time, Zira!” KoH Crowley said to the angel while placing a hand on his shoulder. “You have a real talent for mayhem and temptations! Have you ever considered Crossroads work? I know people.”

“Don’t listen to him, Angel!” AJ Crowley said. ”It wasn’t like that, it was NEVER like that and you know it!” But he could see the doubt and hurt in Aziraphale’s big blue eyes.

“Can this day get ANY better? How the hell did Crowley get in here?” Dean moaned, running his hands over his face. “Cass?!”

“Aziraphale and Anthony J Crowley, exactly why are you here?” Castiel demanded.

“We learned about you through the ‘Supernatural’ novels..…” Aziraphale started to explain.

Dean and Sam both groaned, “Chuck!” 

“If it kills us both,” Dean told Sam, “We gotta find and burn every one of those damn books!”

“No argument from me,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna need another one of these,” Dean stated and grabbed a full bottle.

“Well, the books all seemed so...far-fetched. Could this Carver Edlund really be as accurate as Agnes Nutter?”

“Who is Agnes Nutter?” Sam asked.

“Who is Chuck?” Aziraphale inquired.

“It’s complicated,” Sam replied. “Look, I’m really sorry about the Holy Water and the Angel Blade”, he said to the duo. “Holy Water doesn’t usually kill demons, just slows them down.”

“Perhaps in America, but not in my world!” Crowley shot bitterly. “You could have obliterated me!”

“Sorry!” Sam apologized again. “We've been through a lot around here, and we are warded against beings like you. Demons and angels don’t always come in peace.”

“Ah, the warding removal would be my fault,” Aziraphale said apologetically. “But we never meant any harm. We...I mean, I needed to see if you were real,” explained Aziraphale. “I’ll fix that now.”

“Good one, Feathers!” KoH Crowley gave a dramatic, drunken slow clap. “You opened up the Winchester Fortress of Solitude to every demonic force in the world! Including moi!” he laughed. “You’ve done wonders with him, Tony!”

Crowley rose, ready to smash KoH Crowley’s arrogant face, but Castiel held him back.

“That was never my intention!” Aziraphale fretted. “We simply wanted to--how do you Americans say it?-- ‘team up’ and avert the Big One!”

“The th-what is this now?” Dean challenged.

“Another Apocalypse,” Sam stated levelly. 

“Drink!” said Dean. “Am I the only one playing the Word of the Day game?”

“This is no laughing matter!” Anthony Crowley insisted. “It’s possible the new Antichrist is now on the Earth, and the destruction of the world is at hand.” 

“Is Jack still sleeping?” Dean asked. “It’s 4 in the afternoon!”

“Yeah, he was up researching all night,” Sam informed him. “He’ll get up when he smells pizza.”

“You were having Castiel’s pizza and didn’t wake me!” A flop haired boy in rumpled, slept-in clothes said as he entered the War Room. 

“Hey, hey! Speak of the Antichrist! Have some pizza, kid!” Dean invited the boy. Dean shoved another piece into his mouth. “Good that you deigned to join us!”

“Hey, thanks! Cass, this is delicious!”

It was Crowley’s turn to rub his face in frustration. Why had he ever thought this trip was a good idea? So far he nearly got himself melted by Holy Water, Aziraphale was afraid he was trying to drag him to hell, and now the Antichrist was sitting across the table from him noshing pizza. Aziraphale was looking at him in that “another-fine-mess-you’ve-gotten-us-into” way. Fortunately Aziraphale was too powerful to be taken out by an Angel Blade!


	4. A Connection Is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone settles in for the evening. Dean wants the guests to be slammed into the warded dungeon until they could sort out everything in the morning. Aziraphale researches the Toynbee message in the Bunker library.

“Him!” Dean said pointing at KoH Crowley. “Him, I want outta here!” 

“So inhospitable, after I come bearing gifts!” KoH Crowley objected smarmily.

“So you two intruding buttheads think you’re going to stop the Apocalypse?” Dean challenged.

“We’ve done it before,” Aziraphale defended.

“We think we did...we might have probably done,” Crowley conceded. “It’s a little hazy.”

“Welcome to the club!” Dean stated. “Stopping apocalypses is a career around here!”

“You know what?” he continued, “I’m checking out for the day. I’ve been staring at this Toynbee crap for a week, and I just can’t anymore.”

“Dean, we should hear them out,” Sam offered.

“Ah, that’s a big NOPE from me for the night! I’m gonna take a bottle and go to my room. What you all do is up to you. Just take out the trash,” he said again looking towards KoH Crowley.

“No manners, these Americans, am I right?” Crowley asked, and left, taking the alcohol with him.

“Mr. Winchester, this is an urgent matter!” insisted Aziraphale.

Dean wondered how long it had been, if ever, that anyone addressed him as ‘Mister Winchester’.

“These two jokers, the dungeon,” Dean ordered.

Azirphale and Crowley exchanged quick, nervous side glances. 

“That really will not be necessary,” Aziraphael objected.

“I have one request, Dean before you lock us down,” Crowley said. “I’d like to see the garage. I hear you have a vintage Bentley.”

Crowley found the one thing that would keep Dean from crashing. Aziraphale found himself reluctantly admiring Crowley’s ability to tempt.

“I own…” Crowley began.

“Practically live in...,” Aziraphale corrected under his breath.

“...a 1920s Bentley,” Crowley told him. “My daily driver.”

“A vintage Bentley? Sweet! I like the ‘newer’ cars,” Dean said as he led Crowley to the garage. “‘67 Impala. She’s a beaut!” 

“Hey, wait for me!” Jack said, and tagged along with the new friends.

“Boys and their toys,” Aziraphale said to Castiel, who was completely detached from these concerns.

“I have observed that phenomenon,” Castiel stated blandly.

“Did Mr. Winchester mention ‘Toynbee’?” Aziraphale asked.

“He did.” Castiel deadpanned.

“Ah, I may be able to shed a little light on that.” Aziraphale told Castiel. “Library?” he asked Sam. “That is, if I may.”

Sam showed the Angel to the library and waited for him.

Aziraphale summoned a stack of relevant books from the extensive library before Castiel escorted him to the dungeon. 

“Very...homey,” the Angel commented wryly.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel offered as he closed the door. “We’ll talk in the morning and clear things up.”

Aziraphale sat and read in a vintage chair at a small desk. He reviewed everything and anything written about Toynbee Tiles. Maybe there was more to it than either he or Crowley knew about, after all, they didn’t write the message.

Crowley had materialized some of his own favorite wines and spirits, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, of course. Along with their car talk, this placated Dean who showed him to the dungeon where Aziraphale had set up shop.

“For a demonic hell beast, you’re not so bad!” Dean had declared as he slammed the door shut.

Crowley entered the room still glowing about the car collection in the bunker garage: Vintage roadsters; a Bentley almost as nice as his own; a Chevy Bel Aire, and of course the legendary Impala.

“Don’t you EVER stop?” Crowley asked with a slight slur as he sprawled on an worn out olive green chair.

“I see you’ve found a friend,” Aziraphale said looking up over his small glasses for a split second. 

Was that jealousy? Disapproval? Crowley wasn’t sure and tried to dismiss the idea.

“Yeah, for a human, he’s not too bad. Just a little trigger happy, but that’s to be expected from American hunters.”

“Did you know that Arnold Toynbee was a twentieth century philosopher, author, and political theoretician. He wanted to abolish nationalism.”

“Oh dear, you’re going to bore me to sleep!”

“2001 is a famous futuristic film by Stanley Kubrick based on a book by Arthur C. Clark. But the planet in question was a MOON of Jupiter, ‘Io’.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve seen it. Several times.”

“Have you ever visited Jupiter or its moon, Io?”

“Not since I painted the clouds there,” Crowley told him. “The ‘eye’ was my touch.”

“And here is where it gets really interesting: ‘Resurrect dead’! Could this be something as absurdist as ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space’? ” Aziraphale said with enthusiasm. 

“I helped Ed Wood on that one.” Crowley informed him.”Pretended to be an investor.”

“Of course you did.” Aziraphale said with disapproval. “Unleash THAT upon an unsuspecting public!”

“Angel, those messages were created by demons. Just a bunch of random nonsense to trick naive people into obsessing about them. If you can’t be deep, be obfuscatory!”

“I’m impressed that you know that word!” Aziraphale said peering at Crowley over his small round glasses.

“I’m not illiterate, Angel!”

“And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, some to shame and everlasting contempt, Daniel 12:2”.

“What about it?” Crowley asked.

“Resurrect dead! In the end times! What if that’s the new Great Plan? What if the next war will be with the resurrected as armies?”

“Castiel! Mr. Winchester!” Aziraphale shouted and abruptly grabbed a few of the books and ran out of the room, easily overcoming locks and warding.

“What? What are you doing?” Crowley demanded.

“Well, I guess I’ll just sit here then.” Crowley grumbled, staring at the Devil’s Trap on the floor that hampered him only slightly. He poured another glass of wine.


	5. Trauma Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is having a bad day. Some shippy stuff, angst, hurt/comfort, yadda yada.

Aziraphale returned to the War Room ready to offer his revelations and to pose his many questions. What are the real origins of the Toynbee Tiles? Why would demons be giving random, obfuscatory clues to the Big One? For that matter, who were the messages for? Was it all meant to mislead? 

Sam and Jack were poring over files on their laptops while Castiel stood by. 

The War Room map had red dots marking the Toynbee Tiles’ locations. Aziraphale marked 20 more that Sam, Dean, and Castiel hadn’t known about.

Sam looked up, wondering what was going on. 

“Hey, how did you get out? What are you doing?” Sam challenged.

“Good evening, gentlemen. You’ve missed these locations,” Aziraphale began. “I believe I can shed some light on the significance, and hidden history of the tiles you will not find on your interwebs.”

He hesitated at first with revelations about The Arrangement with Crowley, but this was crunch time; the world was at stake. He explained that he and Crowley placed the tiles depending on where they were assigned to do other work. They didn’t think the messages meant anything, but the Angels’ research may prove helpful.

“So, our Crowley was telling the truth about you two.” Castiel said in an accusatory tone. “You’ve been corrupted by your demon Crowley, doing his bidding?”

“Crowley is NOT...” Aziraphale began to raise his voice and stopped himself. “He is not MY demon! We are...friends. We...help each other.” It seemed strange to admit out loud something he’d been denying for years.

“You’ve teamed up with our Crowley,” Sam countered to Castiel. “Can we just hear what Aziraphale has to say, Cass?” Sam pleaded noting Aziraphale’s discomfort. 

“Let’s not forget that ‘my’ demon (as you call him) also performed miracles and good deeds in my stead,” the white haired angel argued. “The Arrangement is not the way it appears!”

“Then you and he reported to both heaven and hell that you had each fulfilled your given tasks?” Cass continued. “I’d say it is pretty much exactly the way it appears!” 

“Cass, we have bigger fish to fry!” Sam countered. “Now that we know that someone in Hell created the Toynbee messages we can find out what it means. Maybe it’s nothing, but we have to try.”

“If we’re going to get down to cases, you are hosting and enabling the Antichrist right here under your roof!” Aziraphale countered, pointing at Jack. 

Sam wished he’d gone to his own room as Dean had done.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sam protested. “If you two are going to start a holy war you can take it outside!” Sam told them.

“Trouble in paradise, boys?” Crowley asked as he appeared in the room, more than a bit tipsy from the wine.

“Crowley! Go to bed!”

“S’all true! I made Snow White here do my bidding. It took some doing, but I tempted him, I’m dragging him down to hell with me!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, horrified.

“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Crowley accused Aziraphale. “That’s what you all think it is!” “I’ve known him since the beginning of this universe, and that’s what he thinks of me.”

“I’m so sorry!” Aziraphale told the group. “I’ve never seen him behave this way! None of that is true, Crowley!”

Reluctantly Aziraphale took control of Crowley and sent him back to the dungeon where the angel added his own warding.

“We must continue our inquiries in the morning and hopefully clear up these myriad misunderstandings. Good night.” Aziraphale said and disappeared abruptly.

\----------------

Aziraphale had never used his powers to constrain Crowley; it was unthinkable, a clear violation of Crowley’s basic rights as a fellow being. 

Crowley was still petrified when Aziraphale arrived back in the dungeon. The angel sensed things had really gone ‘pear shaped’. 

“I’ll release you if you promise to behave yourself,” Aziraphale promised.

Crowley acquiesced with his eyes. 

When Aziraphale released Crowley, the demon’s sheer horror was revealed. He slumped to the floor and leaned against the cot in the middle of the Devil’s Trap.

“I am so VERY sorry, Crowley! Your outburst left me little choice…” the angel fretted. “I didn’t understand why you were saying those things! We can’t fight each other NOW!”

“I. Don’t. Know. You!” Crowley spat in a strange, far away voice, his body began to shake in traumatic shock. 

“Please, Crowley…” Aziraphale let out a shaky, fearful sigh.

"The last time I felt anything like that, I was plunged into fire and brimstone for no good reason!” Crowley said. 

The trauma of his original Fall erupted from his soul. The memory of having ‘heavenly forces’ like Aziraphale holding and controlling him was overwhelming. Millennia of trying to forget hadn’t healed the experience.

“I don’t know what to do for you!” Aziraphale cried and slumped down next to Crowley.

“You’ve done enough!” Crowley spat, still shaking.

“Was it you?” Crowley accused. “Did YOU cast me out?” 

“What!? No! Absolutely NOT!” Aziraphale cried. “She did! She cast out angels like a child throwing her toys out of her pram!”

“It felt exactly the same!” Crowley whimpered.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Aziraphale realized what he had done, and he was mortified. It all happened so fast. If he had any idea what it would cost Crowley, how it would break the trust between them and cause him so much agony, he would have never done it.

“Do you want to be alone?” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley was still shaking and could barely speak. “No,” came his wan reply. “You’re all I have,” he blurted before he could stop himself. He cringed to hear himself admit that.

Aziraphale, for all his powers and intelligence, often missed the forest for the trees. He always assumed Crowley spent time apart from him socializing with other demons and even humans. He pictured endless parties, debauchery, and a revolving door into his bedroom. It never occurred to the Angel, that like him, Crowley walked the earth alone with only one other being of any importance to him. And that being was Aziraphale. The revelation hit him between the eyes.

“I see,” Aziraphale said, slowly accepting this new reality. He was feeling quite stunned himself.

They sat together for a while, Crowley slowly recovering. 

“You and Castiel didn’t seem to see eye to eye,” Crowley stated.

“He is still a company man at heart,” Aziraphale replied. “It’s a lot to overcome. We were created to obey, as you well know, under pain of Falling.”

“There’s hope for him. He’s close with Dean who has no loyalty to heaven. They have created strong family ties among themselves. They’re on their own side.” Crowley stated. “Like we are.”

More silence.

“I wouldn’t be entirely truthful if I told you the thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Crowley admitted. "In the beginning."

“That you would tempt me to Fall?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes, and that was a long, long time ago,” Crowley confessed.

Aziraphale couldn’t say the rest out loud: “I wouldn’t be entirely truthful to you if I told you I expected as much from you. And if we’re telling truths, I can tell you honestly, I don’t care. I have already fallen for you.”

Crowley couldn’t say it out loud: “But you lifted me up. It was you who led me, not the other way around.”

Crowley became aware of his surroundings. Aziraphale had redecorated, adding a comforting ambiance to the Bunker’s Dungeon. It made Crowley smile a little at the Angel’s thoughtfulness.

The Angel stood up, and proffered his hand to his friend. The demon took his hand and rose up like a baby deer testing its legs for the first time. Aziraphale had to steady him, and he was pleased that Crowley leaned on him for the help. Now he was the one in need of forgiveness.

Slowly Aziraphale led Crowley to a comfortable Victorian bed and helped him settle in. He even miracled black silk pajamas for the demon and a flannel night dressing gown for himself.

“Stop fussing! I’ve been through worse,” Crowley said, half-heartedly resisting Aziraphale’s mothering before passing out on his shoulder. 

“Not by my hand,” Aziraphale said to himself regretfully.

\-----------------------------

The next morning, Dean, with breakfast beer in hand, opened the hellaciously loud, creaking dungeon door which woke Aziraphale and woke Crowley enough to be in a state called ‘groggy’.

Dean took one look at Aziraphale’s frilly decor. He saw the black satin-clad demon and flowered pajama atired angel sprawled on the giant bed in each others’ arms. He shook his head. 

“Whatever!” he said loudly, throwing up his hands. “We did NOT need to decorate this place!” he told them he sighed. 

“I’ll put it back the way it was, Mr. Winchester!” Aziraphale promised, embarrassed. “I suppose I got a tad carried away.”

“D’ya think?” Dean snarked. “Sam’s making breakfast. He’s doing some weird French pancakes!”

“Crepes? That would be lovely!” the Angel said with delight. 

“Yeah, and by the way, hashtag ‘Love Wins’, am I right?” Dean pointed and clicked his cheek, before he turned and rolled his eyes. 

He added one afterthought, “Oh, and it’s ‘Dean’.” 

\-------------

When Dean got back to the kitchen he announced, “One’s an angel. One’s a demon. And apparently...they’re lovers.”

Sam didn’t miss a beat and considered the ramifications of what Dean was saying. Their respective affiliates would NOT be happy about that! 

Somehow, to his surprise, Sam’s breakfast efforts were miraculously producing world class crepes. 


End file.
